


Smell the Roses

by Kitsune_no_Tora



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_no_Tora/pseuds/Kitsune_no_Tora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, taking the time to slow down and enjoy things as they are can be both pleasurable and enlightening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smell the Roses

.~.~.~.~.

It was just a light touch, one of many and a mere gentle, teasing stroke along his lower back, treacherously low while still being high enough to be considered mostly innocent. He must've just caught England in the right mood at the right time, he supposed; a little high on the surprisingly pleasant conversation they had been having about foreign politics and their bosses (or, to be truthful, making fun of them rather than actual discussion) over coffee and tea in France's spacious kitchen after a meeting. Because instead of being slapped and/or verbally abused like he normally would have, he almost immediately was pressed against the back of his seat and received England's tongue thrust down his throat. Not that he was complaining. No, he would never, ever complain about England's kisses, given how rare and downright thrilling they actually were. Fast-paced, hot, and wet, he was nearly overwhelmed in a passion the nation only seemed to release in fits of anger these days. Such a shame, really; he was a marvelous kisser—not that France would actually admit thinking that to anyone. And from the quick, angry fucks they'd had in the past, France could guess that he was a pretty good lover when he actually tried. Not as great as himself, of course, being  _la nation de l'amour_ , but the Englishman was a surprising delight and he had long learned to savor the moments when England actually reciprocated anything sexual, especially in instances when his well-being wasn't at stake.

France wrapped his arms around England's slim waist; smirking slightly into the kiss when he ran his hand along the place he had previously touched and received a low growl in return. So he liked being touched there, huh? Filing away the spot to be used against the Englishman for later, he quickly delved his hands into England's shirt, running them softly over each bump of his spine and the slope of his shoulders. England broke the kiss with a gasp for air, hands fisting in France's hair to pull his head to the side so he could have access to his neck.

And my, did that feel good. England slowed his pace down, matching the slow, drawn-out touches France was tracing along his back, lips soft and supple along his neck with just the slightest hint of teeth; just enough to make him shiver in delight. He moaned breathily when he came upon a sweet spot, just behind his earlobe, and Arthur quickly attached himself to it with a suck that had him quaking with bliss in his powder blue house slippers. Fingers threaded through his long blond locks, massaging and scraping at his scalp in a way that he was positively adoring at the moment, and he sighed when England ran his tongue over the spot before moving on down his neck in search of more sensitive places.

"In a gentle mood, are we?" France murmured, soft and low, pressing his fingers tenderly between the vertebrae of England's middle back, where his spine began to curve inward. England noticeably relaxed further in his hold, sighing silently into his neck—he wouldn't have known he had done so if he hadn't felt the slight heave of his chest and the rush of hot breath over his skin.

"Maybe," England responded, a sensual lit dripped into his voice as he pulled back to plant kisses along the underside of France's chin, a tone that France found mirrored in those enchanting green eyes of his when he leaned up for another kiss, deep and enticing. "Bed?" he downright purred against his lips, and France was only eager to oblige. England, one of the most repressed people he knew, was seducing  _him_ for once. As laughable the idea would be normally, he definitely wasn't going to give a no as his answer.

"Bed." The trip upstairs was, unfortunately, rather inelegant—hands never strayed far from each other's bodies and more than once they found their ankles locked as they tried to both walk up the stairs and stay as close to each other as possible, undoing buttons and buckles and kicking off slippers and socks as they went. England was in the room first, pushed backwards through the doorway by France's hands at his hips, their lips locked in another breathtaking kiss. Maneuvering the two of them through the room more by feel than by sight—his eyes closed as he savored the feeling of the Englishman, his  _Anglais_ , against him—he slowly pressed England down onto the four-poster, climbing on top of him. He pulled apart the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness, drinking in the slow exposure of pale skin, half-lidded emerald eyes and parted lips pointed up to watch him, inviting more. He'd probably never get another moment like this, at least not any time soon, and he was going to draw it out for all it was worth while he could.

His mouth attacked the skin as it was exposed to him, sucking and nipping and licking along his collarbone, pausing and remembering each sensitive patch he came across—one near his right shoulder, another just under the deepest curve of his left clavicle, another further down his chest he had nearly missed if not only for his beard brushing against it, each drawing an appealing gasp or moan from England's lips. He trailed his mouth along the lines of his abs, laying open-mouthed kisses as he went to every sensitive place, hands trailing down his sides to dip in every bump and curve of England's body, leaving no space untouched. England's breath hitched and his stomach fluttered when his fingers traced down his ribs, a reaction France knew he would use against him later, but for now let be to devote his full attention to the man beneath him.

Hands wove through his hair again, England reciprocating the attention he was being given by running his hands through his hair to massage his scalp, drawing a leg up to drag it intimately against the back of France's. It was a gesture that left the Frenchman more turned on that it probably should have, but it worked nonetheless, prompting him to move on to decidedly more exciting areas. England's belt having been discarded on the landing, France quickly unfastened his trousers, England lifting up his hips so that they and his boxers could be pulled down to his ankles and then off. After some prompting from England—he refused to be naked when France was not, the idea was just absurd—France also shucked off his shirt and pants, deciding to start again from the bottom up.

Running a finger feather-lightly against the bottom of his foot from his heel around to his toes, France chuckled when England cursed at him for teasing him as the toes curled around the appendage on reflex. "I want you to touch me, not fucking tickle me, for god's sake France," England growled, looking down at him darkly. France just grinned.

"Patience,  _mon cher_ , I am getting to that," he hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of his right ankle, slowly moving up the leg with both his mouth and hands—drawing more breathy gasps and keening noises from England, which to France's joy he did not try to hide at all—until he was teasing the skin over the jut of his pelvis, pointedly avoiding touching the arousal standing flush to England's stomach by his ear, much to England's frustration.

While he was admittedly enjoying the slow pace France had started and the attention he was getting, the heat that had been slowly curling in his abdomen was getting to be a little much, even if it was surprising that he had been turned on so much by the Frenchman's ministrations without him actually touching him in the most obvious places. "Francis…" he whined softly, squirming as he tried to push France toward his engorged cock, needing him to touch him  _there_  and  _now_  before he started to go crazy.

"Patience,  _mon amour_ ," France purred against his skin, the vibrations from his throat sending a delicious sensation through England's body, "take the time to smell the roses, as they say."

England snorted in a mix of amusement and disapproval, not missing the double entendre. "You've destroyed the proper meaning of my flower."

"Well, I know you are well aware that I do enjoy collecting them." France looked up to grin at him mischievously, sapphire blue eyes twinkling with suggestion and mirth, a look that made England simultaneously want to roll his eyes and kick him and so hot he wanted to kiss him senseless as they fucked  _right now_.

He decided on the former, rolling his eyes and knocking a foot against his thigh with a 'well then get on with it already'. France obliged with a chuckle, deciding he'd had his fun and now it was time to get to the, well, meat of the situation. He curled his hands under England to grip his buttocks, England voicing his approval with a low moan when he nuzzled his cheek against his erection, beard scratching in a way that England decided he liked very much. Fingers and knuckles kneading into his ass cheeks, France took his time showering England's manhood with attention with slow licks and soft sucks, not wanting to push England too far too soon. England gasped and sighed in pleasure at the slow-burning sensation fanning the heat spreading through his body, until it felt like all his nerves were being gently caressed at once—a decidedly wonderful sensation much unlike the quick, raw, blast-burning fire of his normal sexual escapades. France's hands and mouth left him then, and it was only a last lingering thread of pride that hadn't been dissolved in pleasure that prevented him from whining again, cracking open his eyes when France shifted in the bed. He leaned directly over him, them both gasping when their bodies rubbed right up against each other as France reached into the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lubricant. Setting it on the bed next to them, France decided he would rather not move, instead leaning back down to press his lips to England's as he slowly rocked against him, England's prick hot and hard against his own, reveling in the delicious friction their bodies created as they rutted against each other, soft and slow. England wrapped his arms around him, hands stroking up and down his back, blunt nails occasionally scraping against his skin in a way that made him shudder.

"Oh, Arthur…" France moaned fervently against the Englishman's lips, mouth open and inviting as their tongues curled and wrapped around each other, their pace quickening despite themselves. French hands found the bottle on the bed, and he broke the kiss to sit up, pulling English hips up as he went. He coated his fingers liberally with the lube, a smirk playing on his lips when he remembered that the substance was scented—stopping to smell the roses indeed. England sniffed, looking down at him with a disbelieving but vaguely amused gaze.

"Roses. Of course. Why am I not surprised?" he muttered, shaking his head when France laughed, leaning back up for a quick peck on the lips before running a slicked finger between his ass cheeks, leaving a wet trail as they went. Deciding that England would probably need a distraction, he set about teasing a nipple while he inserted a finger past the tight muscle of his anus. England arched into the sensation, forgetting any discomfort as the finger moved within him, taking its time stretching him before a second was added at the same pace as before. It wasn't until the third was pressed inside and France had long moved on to his other nipple that he felt any real discomfort, but it was a bearable burning sensation that quickly was cast away when France found his sweet spot. Sparks danced across his vision as he gasped a strangled gasp, choking out a rushed, "ohhh, there, Francis, do that again!"

France was only happy to do it again, taking pleasure in the way England clenched around his fingers and the sounds he was making. He inserted a fourth finger, thrusting them inside; the movement gentle but still so singularly pointed at where he knew England's prostate was that it sent England into a fit of ecstasy.

Fingers gone, France was quick to replace them with the head of his cock, reaching to pull England's legs so they were spread and out of the way. England pressed down on it insistently, eager to feel him inside him, spreading him open and filling him in the way he so desperately needed at the moment. France eased into him slowly, savoring the feel of England's muscles contracting around him, so tight and hot and  _wonderful_. England grunted in mild pain despite being prepared so thoroughly, but it was quickly banished when France started to move. In and out at a slow, sensual pace, they rutted against one another, England meeting each of France's thrusts with an angling of his hips. With ease they fell into the rhythm of their bodies, in and out, back and forth, up and down, moans and slurred words of bliss and encouragement passing through both their throats, hands roaming wherever they could reach.

England came first, with a low, drawn out moan, his body arching and tensing like a bow before slumping boneless to the sheets, his orgasm coming over him like a Caribbean wave, leaving warmth in its wake. France followed soon after with murmur of England's name like birdsong on a spring day, beautiful to be heard, before slumping beside him. Tired but content, France curled around England, who wrapped his arms around him as well.

"Mmm…" France mumbled softly as England pressed his lips against his, basking in his warmth and the pleasant afterglow, "we should do this more often, don't you agree,  _Angleterre_?"

England chuckled quietly, a devious smirk playing on his lips as emerald green met with sapphire blue, "only if it's my turn next."

.~.~.~.~.


End file.
